


bare necessities

by seasaltgasoline



Series: these hands are meant to hold [5]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Creampie, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Intimacy, Oral Sex, Sex, There is no plot, can be read as a standalone, safe unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29675430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seasaltgasoline/pseuds/seasaltgasoline
Summary: "What is the point of wearing anything," you tell Chris, one hand resting on the warm skin under his collarbone, fingers splayed over the muscle of his chest, "if this is what you're going to wear?"(a vignette)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Reader
Series: these hands are meant to hold [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018063
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	bare necessities

**Author's Note:**

> \- I thought the shirt from the 2020 KBS Song Festival and that single hardworking button was ruination enough and then Clio dropped those photos and I, much like the rest of the fandom, imploded, so here is a plot-less, smutty, self-indulgent fic to help us to cope  
> \- This is technically part of [these hands are meant to hold](https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018063) but it can be read as a standalone because there is zero plot. For what it's worth, timeline-wise this takes place somewhere between [paper walls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28444728) and [between the mountains and the sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29257869).  
> \- Playlist: MARINA’s 2010 album ‘The Family Jewels’, this was from when she was still known as ‘Marina and the Diamonds’.

***

You're the kind of person that chases the thrill, the feeling of being on the precipice and not knowing which way the dice falls, that moment when the coin is in the air and you’re holding your breath.

And the coin is in the air now, when you're in Chris' dressing room backstage at one of 3RACHA's performances, backed up against the dressing table with a pretty boy standing between your legs, caging you against the mirror.

"What is the point of wearing anything," you tell Chris, one hand resting on the warm skin under his collarbone, fingers splayed over the muscle of his chest, "if this is what you're going to wear?"

He's gorgeous, dark hair swept up over his forehead and eyes lined with shadow and kohl, in a black suit cut to fit his body, trousers hugging his legs and the jacket open, exposing miles of pale skin from neck to abs, broken only by the silver of the necklace around his neck. 

You'd made it out of the office early for once, and had ducked backstage before 3RACHA's show, with the intention of saying hi to the boys before finding some alcohol and settling down to watch their performance.

And then you'd seen Chris, all dressed up. 

The arousal had hit you hot and hard in the gut, and your hunger had been reflected in his gaze when he pulled you into his dressing room, one hand hot on your hip. 

He smiles at you now, a little cocky.

"You like it though," Chris says, and it'd be suave, the way he's pressed up against you, one arm over your head, leaning in, if you weren't acutely aware of how he looks in the morning when his alarm goes off, hair mussed as he burrows into the pillows 

You laugh.

"You got me," you murmur, and then you reach out to take his chin in your hand, pulling him into a kiss that's long and deep and just this side of filthy.

His hand slides up your skirt and rests heavy on your thigh, and you pull back slightly to look at him, at his eyes dark. He kisses you again, shifting closer, pressing one leg between your thighs, and his cock is hard against your hip, warm even through the layers of fabric, and you _want._

It'd be so easy to get him on his knees, for you to get on your knees, to take each other apart - 

But Chris is due on stage soon, and you're feeling a little wicked. 

The coin is in the air, and this is how it's going to fall.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling his head back, and you suck a bruise into his neck, right above the collar of his suit jacket, rolling your hips against his, relishing the way his breath hitches.

You place a kiss to the mark you've left in his skin, and then you push him away.

Chris' eyes flicker, almost betrayed.

"Baby-" he starts, and you cup his cheek, a gesture way too sweet for how damp your underwear feels and how aroused you both are, the tension between you thick and cloying. 

"You have to be on stage in seven minutes," you murmur, "and I don't like starting things I can't finish." 

His eyes dart from your eyes to your mouth, and then they dart to his reflection in the mirror, at the hickey dark on his skin, purpling and tinged with the red smear of your lipstick.

"You're in for it," he says, and it's thrilling, his words a promise and a threat.

You step away, and you smile.

"I'll hold you to that." 

***

You’re riled up, because Chris is a vision on stage, and it has been a torturing two hours, staring at all that pale skin on display under the stage lights and neons, marred only by that single bruise. 

He's no better, and it shows in how he kisses you when he sees you backstage after the show. It’s a greeting, as it always is, but there's something heavier in it, deep and intense.

The two of you must be fucking obvious, because when you part, Changbin takes one look at Chris’ hand curled possessively around your waist, at your grip on his arm, and he claps a hand over Jisung's mouth when the other man tries to say something.

"We'll see you at the studio tomorrow, hyung, hope you enjoyed the show, noona," he says quickly, dragging a sputtering Han off, and you meet Chris' gaze, dark and hungry. 

You pull away. 

"I'll get a cab," you say, and he nods sharply. 

He changes into his street clothes, and the cab ride is almost silent, his hand resting on your thigh the whole way. 

When you get home, the tension is taut like a wire stretched across a violin, heavy and oppressive. You drop your keys in the dish by the door, next to the photo of you and Chris that Hyunjin had given you as a housewarming present, and hang your jacket up on its hook. Chris lets his duffel bag slide onto the floor, the sound of it thumping onto the tile in concordance with the front door slamming shut.

You let your handbag join his duffel on the ground, and then you turn, meeting Chris' eyes.

There's a heartbeat of silence, the coin tossed up in the air, the two of you standing on the precipice - and then you've got your hands on each other, hungry and wandering, your lips meeting in a kiss, messy and eager.

He shoves you up against the counter, the edge of it digging into your back, and you fan your fingers across his cheek. In your stilettos, he only has an inch or so on you, and after you’ve pushed his jacket off his shoulders and tugged his t-shirt off, over his head, you tip your head back to let him brush his lips along your jaw. 

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he mutters, unbuttoning your blouse. He gets it half open, and then he’s undoing the catch on your bra, a strapless thing that gets tossed aside, baring your breasts. He cups one in his hand, and you whine softly when he mouths over your hardened nipples, like a brand on your skin. You dig your fingers into his back, kneading them into the firm muscle there. 

"I had a hell of a time on stage," Chris murmurs into your skin, "every time I looked you in the eye I wished I’d gotten you on your knees in the dressing room.” 

You laugh, curling your hand around his shoulder to pull him closer. 

“Funny,” you tell him, “every time I met your gaze I wished I’d gotten _you_ on your knees.” 

He sucks a bruise into your collarbone. 

“We can remedy that,” he mutters, and then he drops to his knees, hiking your skirt up around your waist. He presses his lips to your pussy, still covered by the thin lace of your underwear, and you moan at the touch. 

“God, I wanna taste you,” he says, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging. 

“Go on,” you say, trying to keep your voice level, and he smirks, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties.

He turns his head, to nip at the skin of your thigh, and you grip the counter behind you for support. 

“You asked for it,” he says, into the juncture of your thigh. He pulls your underwear off quickly, and you barely have time to breathe before he’s buried his face between your thighs, his tongue licking a long, wet stripe up your pussy to your clit, flicking firmly before he dives back in. 

You can’t help the whine that slips from your lips as he eats you out, leaning your entire weight against the counter. Your knees are shaky, and you’re still in your fucking stilettos, your skirt around your waist and your tits practically spilling out of your shirt. Your hair is falling out of the loose chignon you’d pulled it into, earlier in the day, and you’re sure you look a right mess. 

Chris pulls you closer, his tongue dipping into the wetness of your pussy, and you’re moaning with how good his mouth feels, how he intersperses kitten-like licks with long sweeps of his tongue, how he suckles at your clit and the electric shocks of pleasure it sends up your spine. 

“Babe, fuck, more, please,” you beg, tugging on his hair, and Chris is always indulgent with you, because he pins your hips down against the counter with one large hand, and he pulls away, sliding two fingers right into you, thrusting them in and out at a pace that makes you see stars. He grins when you groan, pressing a sticky kiss to your thigh. 

“Is this what you wanted, when you saw me all dressed up?” 

You suck in a breath, long and deep.

“No,” you murmur, your voice dark, and he arches an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

You pull his hair again, relishing his moan and how he bares his neck to you, the movement of his hand stuttering to a halt. He still has his jeans on, kneeling between your legs, his fingers deep inside of you, and the arousal is heady. 

“I wanted you to fuck me in your dressing room,” you tell him, and he sucks in a sharp breath, like he’s been punched in the gut. 

“Baby-”

You tug at his hair. 

“Fuck me with your fingers, sweetheart,” you tell him, “then I’ll let you fuck me with your cock.” 

It’s even odds whether Chris listens to you, or whether he decides to be a cocky bastard, but right now, at least, he’s good for you, his mouth back on your clit before his fingers resume pumping in and out of you at an increasing pace, your moans ringing throughout the room as you chase your orgasm, your hips bucking against his mouth. 

He holds you still, twisting his fingers hard and brutal inside of you, and you come, your knees giving way with pleasure. He catches you, fingers sliding out of you with a sloppy squelch, and you collapse into his arms. 

He puts his fingers between his lips, sucking the taste of you from them, and that cocky smirk of his is back, suave and somehow charming. 

“Good?” he asks, and you smack him on the shoulder.

“What do you think?” you ask, and he laughs. 

You shift, your palm finding the front of his jeans, pressing down on the bulge there. His lips part, in a soft moan, and you lean in to kiss him, licking the taste of yourself from his mouth. 

“What do you want, darling?” you ask, curling your fingers around the length of him, obvious through his clothes, and he nips at your ear.

“You said you’d let me fuck you,” he murmurs softly, and you kiss his cheek. 

“How do you want me?” 

Chris looks at you, considering, and then you yelp when he picks you up and stands up, carrying you the short distance from your kitchen to the bedroom. You lose your stilettos somewhere along the way, and then he’s laying you down on the bed. 

He eases your skirt down over your hips, taking the opportunity to strip off your shirt as well, and then you’re completely bare before him, save for the pearls dangling from your ears, your hair tumbling down in loose waves to your shoulders. 

He kisses you, long and slow, and the arousal sparks in your gut. You tug him closer, but he’s resistant, one hand slipping between your legs and the other toying with your nipple, edging you enough that you’d be pissed if you weren’t so turned on. You whine then, a little desperate with how wet you are, fucked out from his mouth and his fingers but still hungry for more, and he presses you into the bed, the rough denim of his jeans almost too much on your heated skin. 

“Needy, aren’t you, baby?” he asks, as if it isn’t obvious, and you curse, kicking at his calf uselessly, “need my cock that much?” 

You and Chris have this push-and-pull in the bedroom, on occasion. Some days you’re both tender, but sometimes the two of you just want to see how far you can push the other, trying to drive each other crazy. It’s a game, when both of you are in the mood to play, to see who gives in, trading submission and control back and forth.

You’re both in the mood now, clearly, your fingers curled into his shoulder. He’s been good, fucking you open with his fingers and his tongue, and now he’s pushing your buttons, trying to get you to give in. 

And you’re weak for a pretty boy, so you do.

“Fuck, Chris, just fuck me already-” you curse, and he kisses you, his smile smug. He kicks off his jeans and his underwear, and both of you hiss when you finally get your hand around his cock. You're surprised he's managed to hold out for so long, given how riled up you both are, but then again, he's always been about the long game.

He rolls you so that you're on top of him, and you cup his cheek, kissing him hungrily. 

"Condom?" he asks, when you break the kiss, and in lieu of responding you grab his cock again and line him up, the tip of it sinking into your wet heat. You and Chris have been together for years, and you've been on birth control for even longer - condoms are useful for keeping things from getting too messy, but you've always liked it raw, the intimacy and the lack of barriers, the thrill of having a pretty boy come deep inside you. 

Chris laughs a little, curling his hands around your hips hard enough that you're sure they'll leave bruises.

"Okay?" you ask him, in turn, and he nods. You brace one hand on his shoulder, and sink down on his cock, your lips parted in a soft moan. You're loose and wet from his fingers and mouth, but it's still a bit of a stretch, and you go slow, taking him inch by inch until he's fully sheathed inside you.

"Sweetheart, you take me so well," he mutters, where he's sucking fresh bruises into your skin, and you sigh, pushing his hair away from his sweat-damp forehead, pressing absent kisses to his cheeks as you adjust to him. 

You swivel your hips experimentally, clenching around him, and Chris groans, soft and low.

"Baby," he mutters, and you sigh at the heat of him inside of you, at how he's filling you up and spreading you open.

"God, can I ride you?" you ask, and he moans.

"Please," he says, and then his expression turns to one of pure pleasure as you raise your hips and drop right back down onto his cock, building up a rhythm that's fast and needy, the sound of skin on skin and the wetness of your pussy echoing off the walls, your breaths harsh and increasingly desperate as he fucks into you, hips bucking to meet the movement of your body. He has one broad hand curled around a breast, and each flick of his thumb over your nipple sends additional shocks of pleasure lancing through you. 

You drop your head to kiss him, and it's deep and needy, the angle pushing you both closer and shifting the way his cock sits inside you, your moans breathy as he fucks into you.

"You're so good for me, always- you feel amazing," he mutters into your skin, and you scratch your nails over his shoulders and his arms, raking thin red lines into his flesh.

"God, Chris, fuck-"

He rolls the two of you again, so that your back hits the mattress, and then he's got both your legs up around his waist, and he's fucking you with fierce, powerful thrusts, his cock hard and thick and splitting you raw and open.

You just dig your nails into his back, chasing pleasure, and you can feel that he's close, the way his breath stutters against your skin.

"Babe, god-"

"Come for me," you urge, "come on, darling, fill me up-"

His thrusts get more erratic, shorter and harder, and he works a hand between the two of you, finding your clit and rubbing his fingers over it, fast and rough, and you sob with the pleasure. He fucks you, hard, his clever fingers twisting and rubbing, and when you come, it's with a whine, high in your throat, your pussy clenching tight around his cock.

Chris buries himself deep, muffling his moan into your shoulder, and then he comes. You feel him spill inside you, hot and wet, and you whine at the feeling, 

You're oversensitive, fucked out, and for a moment the two of you just lay together, his face buried in your neck, your fingers absently carding through his hair.

"Good?" you ask, kissing his temple, and he lifts his head.

"Very," he murmurs, and he shifts so that he can kiss you, the movement causing his softening cock to slip out of your messy pussy. 

You should really get up and clean up, because you're both sweaty and gross, your makeup smudged and smeared, and you can feel his cum starting to drip out onto your thighs.

Instead you press your thumb over the bruise you'd left on him hours ago in the dressing room, now one of the many that litter his neck, and he smiles at you, tender and sweet.

He tugs you closer into his embrace, and you snuggle into his arms.

"Should I be dressing up more then?" he asks, and you laugh lightly, skimming your fingers over the fine arch of his cheekbones.

"Whatever you want, darling," you say.

***

You accompany Chris to the studio the next afternoon. It's a Saturday, so you figure you'll pop in to say hi to the boys before going off to run some errands while Chris works.

Han and Changbin are already there, when the two of you arrive, and after the usual greetings and shit-talking Chris shrugs off his jacket, slinging it over one of the chairs. 

There's a moment of silence in the room, and then Han groans, slapping his hands over his face.

"Hyung," he wails, " _what_ did I say about wearing a shirt if you got some the night before?"

Chris is wearing one of his favourite muscle tanks, and the marks of your hunger are more than evident, the bruises from your teeth and the scratches from your nails stark against the paleness of his skin.

Han looks at you, at your own collection of bruises visible over the collar of your t-shirt, and drags his hands down over his face. 

Changbin sighs, long and deep, and Chris flushes up to his ears.

You just laugh, and when Chris meets your gaze, shy and giggly, so different from the man who had taken you to bed the night before, you can't help the grin that spreads across your face.

You chase the thrill, and honestly, the risk is more than worth the reward. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> \- Sorry not sorry.  
> \- Comments and kudos are lovely, as always! :)  
> \- I am always happy to talk about fandom/K-pop/Bang Chan’s abs over at [@omaisvt](https://www.instagram.com/omaisvt/), on Instagram.


End file.
